


Heaven Can Wait

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Character Death, Gen, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is recovering quite well from a rough mission with the help of his friend and partner.  Only problem is - Illya didn't make it back from that mission.  To top it off Waverly's paired Napoleon with a new partner, a gorgeous red-head.  Problems of course ensue,  but with Illya's help things just might turn out alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Can Wait

“Illya, would you please scratch my nose?”

Napoleon, both of his arms bandaged and held at an angle where he couldn’t reach very far, lay in his hospital bed. Mock irritation past over Illya’s face as he took of his glasses and set his reading material down, reached over and lightly ran his fingers over the requested area.

“Thank you,” Napoleon sighed in relief.

On the other side of the one-way glass panel stood Alexander Waverly and Napoleon Solo’s doctor, Dr. Rebecca Strain watched Napoleon’s every move.

“Who is he talking to?” Waverly wanted to know.

Napoleon’s last mission had left him broken and bruised. An entire building had fallen on them and the estimated recovery time was to be quite lengthy. Once Napoleon was capable of standing, the doctor insisted that Napoleon would need a lot of physical therapy. Painful physical therapy. 

“It’s not that difficult, Napoleon. Just set one foot in front of the other.”

Napoleon scowled and pushed himself just a little bit harder. Without Illya’s encouragement or disparaging remarks, of which there were many, he didn’t think he would have gotten through it all. If it never occurred to him why Illya wasn’t in as bad a shape as himself, he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Once he had regained conscientious, Napoleon had plenty of people stopping by besides Illya. The entire secretarial pool, several of the girls from communications and research, not to mention fellow agents showed up. Illya would always move to the other side of the room to give Napoleon his privacy. Of course, Napoleon would do his best to include the tactiturn Russian in any conversation. Rarely did he have any luck. When he did, he never noticed the looks he got. 

Gradually their friends found other projects that required their attention and few were able to find the time to see the bedridden agent.

Finally came the day Napoleon was to go home.

“The least you could do is help me pack,” Napoleon complained.

“Why should I? You are not an invalid.”

Napoleon straightened up with a grunt as the door opened. “Why, as I live and breathe. April Dancer, I thought you and Mark were in England. What brings you here?”

“Napoleon,” April kissed him tenderly on one cheek. “I’m here to take you home.”

“That’s nice of you to offer.” Napoleon smiled. “But Illya’s going to.”

April stepped back, her face holding a mixture of surprise and sadness. “Napoleon, Illya’s dead.” 

Shaking his head, Napoleon looked to where he’d last seen his partner prior to April’s entrance. No one was there.

April broke the news to him as gently as possible. How the building they were searching blew up leaving Napoleon and Illya trapped under tons of concrete. Somehow, no one knew quite how, Napoleon had survived while Illya had not. A miracle they called it.

Rain drizzled down as Napoleon and April stood under an umbrella at the entrance to the cemetery. They walked to the plot where Illya had been laid to rest. 

Napoleon looked down at the simple plaque, not wanting to believe the truth of it.

“Could I please have a few moments alone?” he asked.

Since the rain had stopped, April nodded then furled up the umbrella and walked away.

Napoleon squatted on his heels and wiped the rain from the plaque. “Oh, Illya,” he whispered. “How could you be so careless?”

“I assure you that it was through no carelessness on my part.”

Looking up, Napoleon dropped to sit on the wet ground in the shock of seeing his partner squatting down on the other side of the plaque. “Illya!” he looked back toward April’s retreating figure thinking to call her in an effort to prove once and for all that they had been lied to and that Illya was indeed alive and well judging from the look of him.

Illya in the meantime had reached over in an effort to stop Napoleon from tumbling over only to have his hand go right through him, proving, once and for all, that he wasn’t physically capable of interacting on the same plane. He tilted his head to read the wording on the dark metal that lay between them. “Hmmph, something a little less…” he searched for the appropriate word. “Informative, but a little more ecstatically pleasing.”

That remark, so like Illya, brought a tear to Napoleon’s eyes. “We’ll see what we can do about that.” Reaching out with the intention on extending a comforting pat to his partner’s shoulder, only to have his hand go right through him, startling Napoleon. 

It did not take a genius for Napoleon to realize that if he let on that Illya was still around, he would soon find himself in a loony bin. It also irked him to no end that most of U.N.C.L.E. viewed him with sympathy and pity, but he wasn’t above using that in his favor. It was that use that got Mr. Waverly to cave in to his demand that a new headstone be put up for his partner. One that he, himself, insisted on paying for. Illya, of course, helped pick it out. He wanted something that was Russian in design and the wording to be very simple.

 

"It's very nice. Thank you, Napoleon."

"Thank you." The two men stood at the gravesite, admiring the new headstone. "So what now. Do you go on into the light?"

Illya pursed his lips. "I don't know. I'm new to this. You want to get rid of me that badly?"

"No, of course not," Napoleon denied. "It's just, well, you're dead."

"Must you remind me," Illya griped.

While Illya was not the first partner Napoleon had lost, he was the first one that had returned to...well, haunt him.

"Look, I don't know why I'm still here." Illya's tone was a cross between apologetic and frustrated.

Napoleon let out a sigh. "Neither do I, my friend."

 

"Mr. Solo, so good of you to finally show up," Mr. Waverly looked up with irritation.

Napoleon glanced at his watch, puzzled. Then he noticed the gorgeous red-head sitting at the table and his eyes lit up with interest.

The red-head rose gracefully from her chair and held out her hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Napoleon saw Illya standing by the window. He ignored the distinct groan that he heard as he ran his eyes from the shiny auburn hair, the grey eyes, tempting lips, curves in all the right places, long legs, to her high-heeled shoes. 

"Mr. Solo, may I introduce Miss Katherine Taylor," Mr. Waverly said dryly. "Your new partner."

"What?" Napoleon was the only one to hear Illya's yelp of shock. "Is Waverly crazy? What is he thinking?"

Katherine Taylor's long lashed covered her eyes as she took his hand and moved in close. "My friends call me K.T.," she murmured. "I look forward to working under you."

Napoleon smile was brilliant. Part of him was sure he knew what was going through Illya's mind and that he could be right, that working with this attractive female could mean trouble, another part of him didn't care. Then he was seated and Waverly was handing them their first assignment.

"Did you even hear what he was saying?" Illya asked while Napoleon packed his suitcase.

Napoleon paused; he realized that he had no idea what this mission entailed. He reached for the file sitting next to the suitcase. A married couple? It wouldn't be the first time he'd posed as someone's husband, this assignment might even prove enjoyable. He looked around to point that out to Illya, but he was gone.  


The assignment could have gone better. Napoleon kept getting mixed signals. When they were in the public eye, she was all over him. Behind closed doors, she was cold as ice. And once things got rough, Napoleon had been more worried about her getting hurt, then covering his ass. Napoleon was so used to Illya's knowing what he wanted done and doing it that it was a shock to his system, literally. He pulled the bandage off his hand and examined the reddened palm. Fortunately, it was only a second degree burn. He was really going to have to have a talk with Katherine. Getting her address from personnel was like pulling teeth, but with a little charm, he managed. 

He was walking determined to knock on her door, when suddenly Illya was walking toward him.

"Napoleon, I don't think you want...," 

And Napoleon ended up walking right through him. Shivering, his hand hit the door before he could stop it. A myriad of thoughts danced through his head. Why was Illya here? What was he trying to tell him? Where had the bone-chilling breeze come from so suddenly? Before he could ask, the door swung open.

In the doorway was his new partner, as he'd never seen her before. She was laughing and hadn't noticed him yet. She giggled as her companion wrapped arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. Katherine had a wallet in her hand and it was then that her friend noticed him standing there.

"He's a little overdressed for the pizza guy," Her friend remarked.

Katherine laughed until she got a good look at the man standing in the hallway, then her face turned white.

Napoleon's mouth dropped open in shock and he walked away.

"I did warn you," Illya said as he sat next to Napoleon. They had walked to the nearest bar where Napoleon ordered scotch on the rocks and an ice-cold vodka and slid it across the counter to set in front of Illya, though why Illya did not know. It wasn't like he could drink it.

Napoleon drained his in one swallow, then indicated that he wanted another. A third drink followed the second. "Just how long have you known about this?"  


An attractive woman started to sit atop Illya and Napoleon glared at her. "Do you mind?"

She frowned at him, clearly wondering if he was crazy before reluctantly moving on. Little did she know that the glare was not necessarily for her. Answering Napoleon's question would not be easy. There was no rhyme or reason for why he was where he had been. He just kept popping up in different places, though he'd noticed that whenever Napoleon was close by he seemed to gravitate toward him. 

"She didn't know I was there," Illya said soothingly.

"And you haven't answered my question."

By now, the bartender was looking at Napoleon as if he was a little off. If Illya was any judge, that look meant Napoleon would be cut off soon.

"Napoleon, I had no idea. One minute I was nowhere in particular, the next I was ... there." 

 

The next morning a red-headed hurricane - with the emphasis on her - stormed out of Alexander Waverly's office. She stopped only long enough to slap Napoleon's face and hiss. "I hope you're happy now."

'What the fuck?' Napoleon thought as he rubbed his reddened cheek and he walked into his superior's office. Waverly stood behind his desk, his face flushed.

"I must apologize, Mr. Solo," Waverly started with. "Had I but known..."

But by then Napoleon's mind began to wander. So his partner wasn't what he had expected. Did it really bother him? Did he actually care? Then he heard words like 'deviant', 'despicable', and 'disgusting private life' before tuning back in to hear. "assigned a new partner..."

"Sir! With all due respect - Ms. Taylor's private life is just that ... private," he said firmly. "I don't want or need another new partner." His eyes blazed with anger. "And if what I've heard today is official policy, I wish to tender my resignation."

Mr. Waverly's face turned grey as he fell back onto his chair. "There's no need for that," he sputtered. "I merely assumed..."

"Well you assumed wrong." Napoleon's voice was low and deadly. "If you have nothing more to say, I would like to find my partner and rectify the damage you've done."

Without another word he was out the door, wishing that instead of it sliding he could slam it shut. Loudly.

He stormed down the hallway, people leaping out of his way, the look on his face telling them better then words ever could to stay out of his way.

"Napoleon?" Illya's dulcet tone, brought him up short.

"What?" he growled.

"She's in her office," Illya informed him. "Packing."

Napoleon turned around and hastened to his office. Illya keeping pace with him. "You know, quite half of U.N.C.L.E. thought we were in such a relationship."

"Huh!" he said coming to a full stop just before he got to K.T.'s door. Illya grinned at him, so he shook his head and continued on as the door slid open and he growled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Tears streamed down her face and she refused to look up when the door slid opened. "Don't worry, I'll be out of your way shortly," she spat.

"Katherine Taylor," he yelled. Illya stood behind her shaking his head, so Napoleon closed his eyes in an effort to get a grip on himself. When he opened them, he was much calmer and Illya was whispering in his ear. "K.T., I'm glad to see you are packing. It will make it so much easier for you to write up our reports if we're in the same office."

The scowling face collapsed and K.T. asked, "But...but what about... and ..." She brought her hand to her face.

"What you do on your own time is your business," was his firm reply. "However, if you hit me again - without cause - you'll pay dearly."

 

"She is good at her job and now that you know about ... her sexual orientation," Illya contended, once they were in Napoleon's apartment. "You can keep your mind on your assignments."

"Well, she's no Illya Kuryakin, but I'll have to take what I can get."

Illya moved around the apartment, his hands in his pockets. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you curse before."

Napoleon shrugged. "I've just had a thought."

"Don't let it bother you," Illya said dryly.

Ignoring him, Napoleon continued, contritely. "I'll be getting older, while you'll stay the same."

"You're welcome to join me. But not too soon."

Napoleon grew morose. One day Illya would undoubtedly disappear. One day he would quite possibly make a mistake that would cost him his life. But until then Heaven could wait.


End file.
